On my own,

On my own,

Just like in my dreams,

I am younger,

More astute.

Less likely to stumble over

My words.

I still stumble over my feet

From time to time

Which would happen less often,

Wine free.

I was once called a ‘new man’

Now I’m an old guy

Wearing a flat cap

Walking flat out

Along the foreshore

In Melbourne,

Where they like to pretend

They have funny weather.

It is not unlike England

In that regard.

The scenery is different

Arguably, there is more heritage

On my walk in Blighty

Along Epping High Street

I could walk

From one end to the other

And back to the car,

Parked in a car park

At Tesco, if you were wondering,

Crossing at the end, in front of

The Tai Massage Parlour

Closed down for being

A front for sex trafficking,

Nobody knew

Until the Police raid.

There are more coffee shops

And Boots the Chemists

Than you might expect

Charity shops continue to bloom,

Although St Claire’s

Is a wonderful charity

For the local hospice.

Further along,

On the other side

Beyond Marks and Sparks

(Spencer to the visitor)

Which is a national institution,

There is an old-style cafe

That serves builders tea

For the aficionados

Of old-style Britishness

But across the road

Is Belgique

With its fresh cakes

And pastries

Afternoon tea

With a three-tiered stand

Full of unhealthy heaven

Loved by all right-thinking

People.

What does that mean exactly?

At a guess,

People like you and me.

The walk only works

In my head

As a recollection.

It’s probably all changed

Since the last time, I was there

But I will look forward

To my next visit

To see if the demographic

Has changed the quaint mock Tudor

Appearance of the High Street.

Another Costa Coffee perhaps,

Or worse, a Wetherspoons

Which would be a disappointment.

Like so many things can be,

If you let them.